One Short Day
by st.jimmy.987
Summary: One short day, long forgotten, in the life of Harry Potter. The story of two boys who grew up to have drastically different futures.


Not entirely sure where this came from. what if Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had met once before, long before either one of them had to go to Hogwarts? A meeting that could have changed everything in the Harry Potter universe. I don't own Harry Potter.

Read, enjoy, and don't forget to review!

It was a sunny day in the London shopping district, allowing for families to be out together on the streets with smiles and joyful expressions; young children ran ahead of their parents, darting around people's legs and playing with playmates they were likely to never see again. They pressed themselves against store windows and ran in and out of shops giggling with delight. The older ones, attempting to be more mature, moved after them, trying their best to keep the younger ones in sight so that they wouldn't get lost or, god forbid, taken or hit. Parents followed behind leisurely, talking with their spouses and significant others and half keeping an eye on their own kids.

Among the happy families was a family of almost-but-not-quite four. Later, much, much later, the not-quite fourth member would be famous, rich, and in want of nothing ever again. He'll have a family of his own, someone he loves and adores, and he will never have to deal with the other three members of this particular family ever again.

However, that was later, much, much later. There is no way for him to speed up time until that point, no ability that would allow him to skip over his childhood. As such, he is forced to remain in this moment in time: he is about the age of five, tripping over the hem of the too-long pants he was forced to wear as he fought to keep up, the too-big shirt hiding his hands and rendering them almost useless even as he pushed around people's legs in a desperate attempt to keep his eyes on the two adults before him. He's far too thin for a five year old, scrawny and all legs at the moment, with wild messy black hair that can't seem to be tamed and emerald eyes that are currently wide with a slight panic. On his forehead, a lightning shaped scar hides under his wild messy bangs; it is the remnants of what truly happened to his parents (not the car crash story that is being fed to him every time he asks), the mark that would identify him for the rest of his life in the upcoming years, the mar on his skin that makes him the brightest beacon of hope in the darkest times of war.

(He hates it viciously at the moment, because right now it only proves that he's different from the people around him. A freak.)

Because he is rushing so hard to keep up with his almost-but-not-quite family, he doesn't watch the people around him. And because he isn't paying attention, it's only a matter of time before he does something he wouldn't do normally- - -he knocks down another young boy as he steps out of a shop.

They both go down instantly. The boy with the black hair and emerald eyes falls backwards with a silent cry, wincing as his head slams against the concrete hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Though he doesn't cry or wail, a few slip down his face as he sits up and gingerly touches the back of his head. The injured area throbs slightly against his fingertips, and he can feel a small lump growing slowly. That appears to be the only injury, and he shrugs it off so he can stand and try to help the other boy up. The other boy has fallen in the doorway of the shop, blinking around in confusion until it hits him and he glares up with narrowed stormy eyes.

The other boy is about his age, that much he can tell, but the differences between the two are as striking as night and day. The other boy is pale where he's tan, blonde whereas his hair is jet black, wears seemingly designer labels worth so much more than the ratty hand-me-downs currently clothing his own back, and has piercing grey eyes to his wide emerald. His clothes are either bought with him in mind or are tailor-made specifically for him, because the other boy has clothes that are tight and snug and fit him properly. His blonde hair is styled and slicked, easily tamed, and the way he refuses help up to stand in an attempt at superiority prove the status of his wealth: this boy, with his designer clothes and sharp grey eyes, comes from a powerful family of money.

(This means absolutely nothing to the boy with his hand-me-down clothes and scrawny figure.)

"'m sorry." He sniffles, rubbing his nose with the edge of his sleeve and allowing the cloth to fall past his fingertips again. "You k?"

"I'm fine." The other boy replies haughtily, tossing his head back and peering down his nose at the other boy. "You should watch where you're going. No one wants to be shoved down by a dirty homeless child."

"'m not homeless!" Though he struggles with the longer word and doesn't really know what it means, he can tell by the adopted tone the pale blonde was making fun of him. When he raises an eyebrow (and both go up though he doesn't seem to realize that), the black-haired child stomps his foot on the ground. "'m not! I live with my aunt and uncle on...on..." The address falls from his mind, and he stamps his foot again in frustration.

"All right, all right!" The pale boy looks around before coming out of the shop fully. He takes what he assumes to be the other's hands and makes a face when the only thing he grabs are the sleeves. "Don't they have money to buy you clothes that fit properly?"

"I dunno." The black haired boy shrugs. "'m always gettin' Dudley's stuff."

"Who's Dudley?"

"My cousin." Emerald eyes moved from their resting position on the concrete to meet grey eyes. "'m Harry. Harry Potter."

The grey eyes flash in recognition.

"You're Harry Potter?" He asks excitedly, the beginnings of a smile tracing its way across his face. Confused just a bit, Harry nods his head a few times before the other boy forcefully pulls his sleeve up and takes his hand, shaking it hard enough to shake Harry's whole arm. "My name's Draco Malfoy."

"Hullo, Malfoy." The young boy makes a face, his hand stopping the insistent shaking.

"Just Draco." He says simply. Harry nods once more and smiles brightly. "Are you going to Diagon Alley as well, then? Father says he has business, but Mother told me she'd buy me what I want at the shops there."

"What's Diagon Alley?" Harry asks curiously, the shop name sounding foreign in his mind. Draco stares at him with wide, grey eyes, disbelief written all over his face.

"You don't know what Diagon Alley is?" He gives Harry an inspecting look. Harry wasn't sure what he was looking for, but the pale boy didn't seem to find it and shook his head in denial. "You're lying." Harry shakes his head as well, and Draco gives him an odd look. "Didn't your aunt and uncle explain everything to you?"

"You mean bout the car crash?" Harry supplies helpfully with a shrug. "That's Aunt Petunia tells me. But that's it."

"Car crash?" Draco frowns in confusion and, without warning, leans forward and moves aside Harry's bangs. His eyes trace over the lightning bolt scar, and for a moment his gaze is so intense Harry feels self conscious; just as he's about to reach up and hide the offending scar from view, Draco uses his hand holding up the jet black hair to trace the marred skin. "Is that where you think you got that?"

"I guess." Harry frowns, feeling as if this strange, pale boy with grey eyes and fine clothes knows more about him then he himself does. It's a deep unpleasant feeling, one Harry doesn't like, and he challenges Draco with a slightly annoyed tone in his voice. "Why? How'd you think I got it?"

"You don't know that either?" Draco pulls away with an indignant sound, crossing his arms with a glare. "You're the Boy Who Lived! How can you not know?"

"I just don't." Harry muttered, annoyed. He was intrigued about what Draco would tell him, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel irritated with the blonde because he wouldn't say anything. "Tell me what you know, then."

"You got that from," His grey eyes dart around again and he leans forward, putting his mouth by Harry's ear to whisper loudly, a breath between each word to make it sound scarier, "You-Know-Who." He leans back again, proud with himself, but Harry looks more confused than ever.

"I don't know, though." He says back, crossing his arms. "Who?"

"Well, you can't just say his name!" Draco says, aghast. "It's bad!" Harry doesn't look convinced, and after a moment Draco sighs. "I don't know his name, either." He admits. "Mother won't say it and Father and his friends have always called him the Dark Lord. Everyone else says You-Know-Who or some long thing that I can't remember- - -something like He-Who-Musn't-Be-Named."

"You can't get mad at me when I don't know if you don't know either." Harry points out petulantly, glaring. Draco copies his movements, his glare colder and more practiced than Harry's own.

"I obviously know more than you." He spits back. "Car crash." Draco scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Didn't they tell you anything at all about what you actually are?"

"What?" Harry's next question, full of childlike hope and confusion, gets drowned out by a woman's shriek.

"Oh, Draco, there you are!" A tall woman rushes towards the front of the shop, calling over her shoulder. "Lucius, I've found him!" She has long hair pulled in a sort of half ponytail, the top part of her hair blonde like the boy's and the bottom a sort of chocolate brown. Her dress, black with silver thread and silver buttons with some sort of crest on them, is modest and yet formfitting underneath the black cape around her shoulders. She's already pulling off the matching black gloves, her fingers fixing imaginary damage done to Draco's hair.

"Mother, stop!" Draco whines, trying to pull away without disrupting his mother's work. His eyes flash to Harry's, a slightly humiliated look in the grey eyes at the treatment of his mother.

"Hush, darling, not a word." The woman chastises as she straightens his shirt. "You shouldn't wander off, you've no idea how worried we were." Somehow, Draco's struggling moves her gaze from her son to the boy he had acquainted himself with. Giving him a quick look over and pursing her lips in obvious disapproval (though she has no idea that in twelve years she will lie to protect this boy), Draco's mother offers a tight smile as she stands fully, placing her hands on Draco's shoulders. "Who's this, darling?"

"This is my mother." Draco says, momentarily ignoring her and touching her hand slightly before tilting his head back to meet his mother's eyes. "Mother, this is Harry Potter!"

"What proof do you have of that, Draco?" A cold voice sneers out; an even taller man comes out after his wife. His eyes are grey, like Draco's, but stone cold and hard as diamonds. His blonde hair is long like his wife's, pulled back into a low ponytail. He has black gloves on and a black robe that looks expensive. In his hand is a long black cane with a silver handle. Harry instinctively shrinks away from the icier male, his emerald eyes already narrowing in distrust.

(Years later, they will face off many times. Battles between these two particular individuals go either way: sometimes this cold man wins, and other times Harry is the victor; in the end, though, this man ends up in prison for life and Harry roams as freely as he wishes.)

"After all," He drawls, "Harry Potter has gone off the map. He hasn't been found since the incident in Godric's Hollow."

"But, Father, it is Harry Potter, look!" Draco lunges forward, out of his mother's grip, and swings around Harry. One arm goes loosely around Harry's neck and the other flies upward, pushing aside Harry's bangs once more and revealing the lightning bolt scar.

The reaction is instantaneous: Draco's mother takes a step back, her eyes wide with shock. His father's eyes gleam in cold interest, stepping forward and tracing the scar with his eyes.

"Excellent, Draco!" He hisses in a perverse sort of delight. Harry wriggles around uncomfortably, though he can't help feeling anything but comfort in the first embrace he could ever remember, from the first friend who hasn't thought of him as a freak.

"Ohh, darling." Draco's mother coos, finding her voice and kneeling in front of Harry. "Where are your...guardians?" She asks, hesitating slightly as if she had a different word in mind. Belatedly, to Harry's surprise, he remembers that he had been following behind Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and if they have to go searching for him, he'll get locked under the cupboard with no supper again. Unfortunately, by this point, they were as gone as if they had never come to the London shopping district, and after a moment of looking all Harry could offer her question was a shrug.

"I've lost them." Draco beams, his hands moving from Harry's head and neck to hug him around his waist.

"He's never even heard of Diagon Alley, can you believe that?" He asks with incredulity in his words. His father rolls his eyes and moves to continue walking; his mother's smile turns warm and genuine as she offers both boys her hands.

"Why don't you come with us, Harry dear?" She asks kindly. Turning a slight red, Harry shyly takes her larger hand in his, Draco grabbing wildly from the other side. "You'll love it, I'm sure, dear."

They walk together, Draco stopping his swinging when his father turns around and gives him a cold glare; still holding on to his mother's hand, Harry watches as Draco straightens up and adopts a sort of mock seriousness that vanishes when he notices Harry looking at him and smiles. Uncertain of himself, Harry takes a bit to respond, because no one who smiles at him lately hasn't done or planned something horrible for him. He ends up taking so long that he doesn't realize they've turned into an alley, hasn't seen Draco's father pull apart his fancy cane to reveal a wand, tapping certain stones in a certain order.

When he looks forward again, there's a new street before them: it looks the same as the one they're leaving, with the children playing and running in and out of stores, older ones yelling to be careful. Adults are talking over each other, and in front of what appears to be a hotel-type place is a family of red heads.

(The youngest, the lone girl it seems, is bawling her eyes out. The mother is loudly and fiercely scolding one of the boys who looks barely older than his sister; he's crying as well. Behind the mother is a pair of twins, shooting each other mischievous smiles and holding what appears to be a stuffed owl. Another boy is giving them all disapproving looks from his spot on the sidewalk, his arms crossed as he patiently waits for his mother's attention. Two older boys are scuffling playfully with each other, each hollering for the other to yell uncle. The father is yelling over everyone, holding up letters and trying to get the older boys' attention. With all that chaos, Harry's suddenly glad he ran into Draco Malfoy instead of that family. He wouldn't be able to deal with all those people talking to him at once.

Besides, the similar looks of distaste Draco and his parents give them doesn't speak of great things concerning that family.)

They walk until they reach a bookstore, the sign reading 'Flourish and Blott's' where Draco's father turns and gives his wife nod then leaves. They watch as he turns into an alleyway and vanishes, though Draco and Harry's attention is soon drawn away to press their noses against the cool glass before them. Draco's mother smiles down at the boys holding her hands, head tilting towards a shop down the street.

"We can go in here, or we can go to for ice cream." Narcissa told the two boys at her side. "Where do you want to go, boys?"

"We should let Harry decide!" Draco said loudly, pulling away from the glass and shrinking a bit when his mother shushes him hurriedly. Even with the slight scolding, he turns wide grey eyes to the boy opposite him and grins widely. "After all, he's never even heard of Diagon Alley before. He's no idea what there is here!"

"Wonderful." Two pairs of eyes, blue and grey respectively, are suddenly on Harry, and the five year old twists awkwardly as they await his decision. He's never been told that he can choose what he wants to do, and the sudden ability to choose mixed in with what looks like a man flying on a broom on the cover of a book (literally flying- - -Harry can see, out of the corner of his eye, the graceful way he moves around and avoids trees) has shorted out his ability to speak. "What do you want to do, Harry darling?"

"Um, uh..." drops eloquently from the five year old's mouth as he looks around with wide eyes. Across the way, there's a wide window with owls screeching in their cages, wings beating wildly against the bars; a store filled with brooms, groups of people talking excitedly amongst each other in various states of dress, though the most common outfit is a long black cloak. Several older teens are talking excitedly in a group, holding thin sticks and creating small explosions that don't go past their group. A young girl, older than him but younger than the group of teens, is gleefully holding up an owl and making cooing noises at it. Amidst the confusion racing through Harry's mind, the boy manages to spit out "Ice cream, please."

"Ice cream it is, then!" Narcissa says with a relieved look, taking both boys' hands again and turning them in a direction opposite of where Draco's father went. As they walk, Harry watches with a wide eyed fascination. Two teenage boys fly by on broomsticks, low enough to avoid detection but high enough to not hit people. A couple of girls sit together, donning black robes and red-and-gold striped ties around their necks.

"Madam Malfoy." The man behind the counter gave her a look that was equal parts loathing and fear. Narcissa made no comment about it, breezing past the people in the doorway with her head held high and a distasteful look on her face.

"Two ice creams." She informs him with a cold tone, placing a single gold coin down on the counter. The man grumbles quietly, accepting the coin and turning away to put it in his register. As he does, Draco turned to Harry.

"These are the best ice creams in all of Europe!" He exclaimed quietly in the darker haired boy's ear. "Fortescue always makes the highest quality ice cream, according to Mother." As they get the ice creams, Draco straightens up and tosses his head back, loudly drawling, "Only the best for a Malfoy." Fortescue sends a sharp look at the boy, but it's lost as Draco turns and smiles widely at Harry.

"What else would you like to do, Harry?" Narcissa asks Harry as they walk out of the ice cream shop in the same manner they went in. Harry is so taken in by the ice cream, it's quite a while before he realizes that he's been addressed. When he does realize that both Narcissa and Draco are looking at him expectantly, he accidentally pushes his ice cream into his face, smearing the cold delicacy up the bridge of his nose and across his lips.

"Come again, ma'am?" He asks quietly in response.

"There's lots to do in Diagon Alley." Draco says enthusiastically. "There's a book shop and a joke shop- - -"

"It'd probably be best if I tried to find my aunt and uncle now, actually." Harry mutters reluctantly, wiping off the ice cream with the sleeve of his too big shirt. Draco stops talking and looks at Harry curiously, and even Narcissa sends the boy a slightly worried glance.

"I've only just got to play though." Draco whines. "Do you have to?"

"They wouldn't bother to look for me here. They don't know about Diagon Alley, and there isn't much reason for then to come down this way. Certainly, if Aunt Petunia saw this place, she would die before saying so much as a hello." Harry says. Across the way, something explodes. Narcissa doesn't move, though both boys peer around to try and find the source; when it fails to be locate, Harry continues talking as if he hasn't been interrupted. "And if they don't find me soon, they're likely to leave me here whether they know I'm safe or not."

"That's not a way for a child to live." Narcissa cuts into their conversation gently. "You wouldn't rather just stay with us, Harry dear?" Harry looks up at the blonde woman with wide eyes. Wouldn't he rather stay with Narcissa and Draco? Sure, Draco's father makes him feel weird with the way he stares at him, but Narcissa was almost motherly and Draco was the only friend Harry's ever had in his young life. They'd both been so nice to him, in the short two hours they'd had him, that the idea of leaving and going back to the horrible way his aunt and uncle treats him makes Harry want to cry.

"I would prefer it." Harry says honestly; if anything, he's always much too honest for his own good. He'll learn to keep his mouth shut, to filter what he says, but at five years of age he doesn't have that skill just yet. "But I wouldn't want to cause much trouble."

"It's only the afternoon!" Draco exclaims, sullenly licking at the ice cream in front of him. The treat, once sweet and exciting, was now rather boring and unwanted in the light of recent events. Even the idea of going anywhere in Diagon Alley had lost its usual spark of interest; Draco couldn't possibly imagine going to the shops that lined the street without Harry Potter with him. "Surely your aunt and uncle wouldn't mind."

"Oh, but they would." Harry said gravely. "They aren't pleased when there are people who are too nice to me, you see."

"You should at least finish your ice cream." Narcissa says kindly. "We'll find your aunt and uncle then." As she speaks, Narcissa leads them toward the entrance of Diagon Alley, back toward the Muggle world where they found Harry.

"All right!" Harry smiles widely, happy he gets to keep his treat even if what he wants to do is find his aunt and uncle. He enthusiastically eats the cold treat, which prompts Draco to do the same. In mere moments, the two boys are competing over who could finish their ice cream first; the both of them are so focused on their task they ignore the impending pounding in their head. It isn't until Harry is victor, throwing the last of his cone into his mouth a mere second before Draco does, that either boy acknowledges it.

"Brain freeze!" Draco groans, hands on either side of his head just as Harry moans in agreement. Narcissa watches, amusement dancing in her eyes, as Draco rubs intently at his temples. Beside him, Harry has taken to pounding his head with his fists.

"Ow!" Harry whines. "Ow ow ow!" Draco rolls his eyes, wincing slightly, and shoves Harry with one hand.

"Hitting yourself doesn't make it better!" He says impatiently. Harry stumbles, stops, and sticks his tongue out in retaliation.

"You don't know that!" Harry shoots back. "What if it was helping me?"

"That's stupid." Draco snorts. "How would hurting yourself when you're hurt help you feel better?" Harry shoves Draco back, making the boy stumble as well. For a moment, shock crosses Draco's face; nobody before has ever dared to push a Malfoy before. Determination sets in his face, and he lunges at Harry. The Boy Who Lives seems to realize he has done something; when Draco lunges, he turns tail and runs off. He's surprisingly fast for a five year old, and the fact that Draco has to regain his balance gives him a good head start.

"Can't catch me!" Harry yells back, while Draco simply screams "Get back here, Potter!" at the same time. Narcissa smiles and keeps both boys within sight easily, though keeping up with them both is another matter. The boys bob and weave easily through the crowds, their size making it very easy for them to slip through people's legs. It isn't until they've hit Muggle London that Narcissa even realizes that anything's wrong.

Harry is frozen on the ground, his emerald eyes wide. Draco's a few feet to the side, the blonde boy making no movement as well. Narcissa frowns and hurries forward, abandoning her ladylike behavior in favor of shoving people aside to get to her son and his friend.

Harry doesn't want to turn around. Draco's stunned face mixed with the feel of big, meaty legs against his back is enough of a hint to know who it is behind him. He thought he heard his name while they were playing, but he had ignored it because he didn't want to leave the happiness that he'd gotten with Draco and his mother. Harry had put off finding his aunt and uncle; now he has no choice but to face them and go home.

"There you are, boy!" Uncle Vernon growls out through gritted teeth, his hand clutching painfully tight on Harry's shoulder as he hauls him up and around. The much smaller child stares up at his uncle, his emerald eyes wide in a mixture of shock and horror. Uncle Vernon's seen him with Draco, he knows with complete certainty; the much older man just saw Harry smiling and laughing, this other boy playing with him without torment. Harry is suddenly much happier and certainly much more relieved that he'd finished his ice cream a few minutes before running into his makeshift family. "What have we told you about wandering off?"

"I apologize for not having him contact you sooner." Draco's mother cuts in smoothly, giving the whole family before her a tight smile. Aunt Petunia looks her over as well, letting out a surprised, uncertain little giggle. Dudley is behind her, screaming loudly with big, fat, crocodile tears pouring down his face. Uncle Vernon sees Narcissa Malfoy and scowls darkly.

"Well, who are you, then?" He snaps. She blinks a bit before she speaks, her mouth twitching once. As the wife of Lucius Malfoy, and even with her Black maiden name, Narcissa had never been treated with anything less than politeness. That these commoners, these lowlife _Muggles_, would dare to address her rudely makes her fingers twitch very slightly towards her wand.

"My name is Narcissa Malfoy." She says coldly instead. "This is my son, Draco." Draco gives them an ice look that shows his opinion of them; it makes Harry stifle a snicker at someone looking down at the Dursleys when he was nearly three times smaller than Aunt Petunia and Dudley. "I assume you are Harry's guardians?"

"In a manner of speaking." Aunt Petunia says tightly, pulling Dudley behind her. The child is pulling the thin woman off balance and wailing loudly about a lollipop. Draco gives him a narrowed eye glare, and suddenly Dudley is a pig; his ears grow long and floppy, his nose and mouth get pulled back into a snout, the loud cries turn into equally loud squeals, and Harry's willing to bet his cupboard and his next meal a curly tail has sprouted out of his rear end.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon look horrified.

"My...my baby..." Aunt Petunia whispers, eyes wide. At the same time, Narcissa Malfoy raps her son smartly on the head, though her clear blue eyes show obvious approval and pride; still, she says, "What is the rule about magic and Muggles, son?"

Draco, despite the hit, looks just as proud as his mother, if not prouder. He sends Harry a bright smile while Dudley whimpers and squeals, crossing his arms and lifting his chin in defiance. In response, Narcissa raps his head again.

"No magic on Muggles." Draco recites in monotone, uncrossing and then recrossing his arms and sending a glare at the still howling Dudley. Narcissa nods once in approval, her lips pursing tightly as she reaches into her cloak and pulls out a beautiful looking wand.

"I will set him straight." She informs the Dursleys coldly before aiming her wand at Dudley. Aunt Petunia shrieks, and Uncle Vernon's face turns an unhealthy shade of crimson. He yells something indecipherable, and while the adults are all busy with one another, Harry turns to Draco.

"Will I ever be able to see you again?" Harry asked Draco quietly, keeping an eye on his stunned but furious aunt and uncle in the event they managed to regain their senses enough to hear what he was saying (though it's unlikely, as Aunt Petunia is insistent on shielding Dudley and Uncle Vernon is yelling unintelligible abuse at Narcissa). Draco gave him a sympathetic look, his face turning blank and cold as he glared at the Dursleys.

"I'll owl you every day, I promise." The pale boy swore. He held his hand out, and after a moment Harry took it with a slight smile. Draco mimicked it, and they shook hands. "Til we meet again, then, Harry."

"Til then, Draco." Harry responds with a grin; it fades when the back of his collar gets gripped by his Uncle Vernon's meaty hand and he was dragged back a few feet.

"We're. Going. _Now_." Vernon growls darkly. Just behind him, Dudley looks normal again, though he's still squealing and Aunt Petunia is sobbing almost hysterically. Harry sighs, and Draco Malfoy watches as The Boy Who Lived (The Boy Who Lives, The Chosen One) visibly curls in on himself, his bright, vivid green eyes losing the spark that had been lit all afternoon. Draco opens his mouth to say something, anything, about the treatment of the famous child; Harry looks up and catches his eye. Shaking his head slightly, the boy waves at Draco and smiles as he is pulled away.

Then he was lost amidst the traveling, shopping Muggles of London, never to be heard from again- - -until the day he turned eleven years old.


End file.
